I swirled my coffee lazily, the way I do when I'm pretending to be patient but really plotting the fastest way to crawl under someone's skin. "So, Annie honey drop," I purred, grin curling, "since we're in such a sharing mood, why don't you tell me more?"
She raised a brow like she couldn't be bothered. "About what?"
"Oh, I don't know… anything." I leaned forward, eyes glinting. "You keep so much to yourself, Annie pookie, and that's just tragic. I must fix it."
She sighed through her nose. Her favorite way of calling me unbearable. "I already told you my favorite color, my favorite food, and about my runes. What else do you want?"
"Well," I smirked, drumming my fingers against my mug, "what's something no one knows about you?"
Her eyes flickered down to her cup. "No one?"
"No one," I confirmed.
A beat. Then she surprised me. "I like thunderstorms."
I blinked. "Really?"
She nodded, gaze drifting somewhere distant. "The sound. The way the air changes. The way it feels… unpredictable."
Oh, my sweet little liar. My grin spread like ink in water. "Annie starlight, are you telling me you enjoy chaos?"
She snorted, shaking her head. "I enjoy storms. You are not a storm."
"No, no, no," I wagged a finger, delighted. "I am exactly a storm, darling. Just far more charming. And considerably less wet." I take the high ground and keep my comment about her wetness to myself.
Her look could have curdled wine. "You are exhausting."
"And yet, you're still talking to me." I leaned back, smug. "Now, tell me more. Favorite season? Least favorite god? Weirdest dream?" She gave me that look. The one that says she knows I'll never shut up until I get what I want. Beautiful look, really.
"My least favorite god?" She considered. "Aerion. His runes hurt the most. My entire right leg. Took a long time. His priests were arrogant. From what I know, he's the same."
I burst out laughing, slapping my knee. "Oh gods, yes. He polishes his own armor, Annie. His own armor. Can you imagine? The man thinks he's an equestrian statue come to life. Seriously! He carries a huge sword as compensation for his tiny sword. "
For the first time, she smirked. Just slightly. "Sounds exhausting and that is gross."
"It is exhausting and that is hilarious," I agreed, tossing a hand dramatically. "See? You understand me."
Her smirk lingered. Then she gave me more. "Favorite season? Summer evenings. But I like spring and fall days." She tilted her head. "What about you?"
Complicated question, complicated answer, my specialty. I stretched like a cat preparing for mayhem. "Ah, Annie-petal, I adore certain pieces of each. Winter's storms. Spring's illusions of renewal. Late summer nights? Perfect for trouble. And autumn? Oh, autumn is when mortals grow reckless, and recklessness is the perfect ingredient for chaos."
She just shook her head. "You could have picked one."
"Where's the fun in that?"
Then, unexpectedly, she asked, "My weirdest dream? Like a sleeping dream or something I wish for?"
That made me pause. Then grin, sharper. "Both, darling. Strangest one you've had asleep. And strangest one awake."
She set her cup down with deliberate care. Fingers resting against the table. Posture perfect. But her eyes… ah. Older. Heavy. Something there. "When I was seven, I dreamed the same dream every night."
I leaned forward, hooked instantly. "In my dream, I'd wake up in my bed. A shriveled, horrible monster would crawl in and eat my legs. Starting with my feet." My fingers tightened around my cup.
"I felt every bite," she said evenly. Too evenly. "He was slow. He chewed through the bone. Gnawed the meat from my calves. Stripped my thighs. It took hours. I would scream, beg, but I could never move. My body wouldn't listen." A shiver ran down her arm. "The next morning, in my dream, I was whole again. So I tried to tell my mother." She inhaled sharply, shaking her head. "She always smiled. Told me he was our friend."
Something twisted in my stomach. "One night, I hid. Waited. When he walked in, I jumped out. He ran." She tapped her fingers lightly against the table, mimicking footsteps. "I was so excited. I ran to tell my mother." My chest tightened. "But when I walked into her room… he was there."
I stilled. "Eating her legs. Slowly. The same way he had eaten me." Her voice didn't change. But there was something broken under it. "I stood in the doorway. Watched him crawl over her. And she turned her head toward me. Her eyes were dead. Empty. She smiled and said, He is our friend."
The air around me pulsed, thick with fury. "Then she convulsed. And died."
"What. The actual. Hells, Annie?!" I damn near choked on air, flinging my hands around like the universe had just insulted me personally. She, of course, sat there perfectly calm, sipping her coffee like nothing in the cosmos was wrong.
"What?" she asked, unbothered.
"What?!" I echoed, scandalized. "You! You had that dream for months? Annie, that is not a dream! That is a cursed prophecy of suffering!"
She shrugged. Shrugged. She does that so often! So casual. "It was probably just growing pains."
I gawked at her, my whole existence wobbling on its axis. "GROWING PAINS?!" I practically shouted.
"Yes," she said, voice maddeningly even. "My legs hurt, so my brain made up a story about them being eaten. Logical."
Logical. Logical?! I threw my arms skyward like maybe the gods above would finally give me patience. "No, Annie, logical is dreaming about flying. Logical is showing up to the temple in your undergarments. Logical is not having your legs chewed off by a nightmare gremlin while your dream-mother smiles through her own slow consumption!"
She tilted her head, calm as a still pond."Disturbing, sure. But it stopped after a while."
"Oh, well, thank the gods," I deadpanned, pressing a hand to my chest like a martyr. "At least it was just temporary hell and not forever hell."
She rolled her eyes. Took another sip. Like I hadn't just witnessed psychological horror.
I gawked harder. "Annie, you concern me."
"You asked," she reminded me.
"I—" I jabbed a finger at her, opened my mouth, shut it again. Tried a second time, failed spectacularly. Dragged a hand through my hair. "You know what? Fine. Great. Perfect. I just—" I needed a moment.
And then, because she's an actual menace, she smirked over her cup. "You seem upset, Malvor."
"I, You," I jabbed another look at her. "You are the most unsettlingly casual person I've ever met." I took a long swallow of coffee, silently rethinking every life choice that led me here.
She swirled her coffee, gaze distant now. Her voice dipped lower. "I used to have a lot of nightmares. All the time. Horrible, vivid things." That stopped me. My mouth still half-open, caught between outrage and fascination.
"I finally taught myself how to wake up," she continued, steady as stone. "Eventually I could dreamscape. Control my dreams. Just… walk away from the terror." My brows arched despite myself. That… that was impressive. Gods, that was very impressive.
"When I was given to the temple, my dreams became my escape," she said, her tone softer now, far away. "I could swim underwater. Fly. I could be powerful. Do anything." Her fingers tapped against her cup. Her voice steadied again. "In a world where I had no power, my dreams gave me power."
I leaned back, tapping a finger against my lips. For once, words abandoned me. Teasing felt cheap here. Because gods help me, I understood that. More than I ever wanted to admit. When my smirk finally returned, it was different. Softer."Oh, Annie dream-weaver," I murmured, a low chuckle curling out of me, "I knew there was chaos in you somewhere."
And then it happened. She grinned.
Not her little twitch. Not the almost-smile she tossed me like scraps. No. This was full. Unrestrained. A grin that burned like a star flaring to life, blinding and impossible to look away from. It did something in my chest shifted. Unwelcome. Dangerous.
I decided to push my luck. "Annie, you really are beautiful."
Her grin slid into a cocky smirk, those blue eyes gleaming with unholy confidence. "I know."
A short laugh burst out of me. "Gods above, cocky little thing.""Takes one to know one," she shot back.
"No," I admitted quietly, eyes narrowing as I studied her. "It was that last look. Unguarded. You looked… free." Free. What a terrible word. What a dangerous word, when she was mine now. But the truth rang too loud to ignore. And that truth hit me like a hammer:
I wanted to see her smile again. I wanted to hear her laugh. I wanted... Oh. Oh no. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
As if she could taste the panic rolling through me, she said it: "I still belong to you. Whatever it is you want, just ask."
Bloody flaming hells. What did I want? Her. Shit. That thought barreled through me, tearing holes in every carefully constructed wall I'd ever built. I didn't want people. I used them. They wanted me. Needed me. Threw themselves into my arms, desperate for a taste of chaos. That was easy. Clean. Safe. This? This was not safe. And she knew. Gods damn her, she knew. Calm, unreadable, sipping her coffee while I squirmed in my own skin like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. How?!
I narrowed my eyes at her, burning under the weight of her knowing. I hated it. Hated how easily she saw me. Even worse? Hated that she wasn't using it against me. No. Correction. I hated how much I liked it. She just… knew. And that was so much worse.
"Annie," I said slowly, voice lower than I intended, "you're a menace."
Her brow arched, that tiny shift that drove me insane. "You're only realizing that now?"
Gods. The audacity.
I leaned back in my chair, swirling my coffee as if the answer to this nightmare revelation might appear in the foam. I wanted to laugh, to joke, to snap my fingers and conjure something absurd just to distract myself. But instead, I was… stuck. Stuck on the way she looked at me. Stuck on the way her smile had torn through my armor like it was paper. Stuck on the realization that I didn't just want her amused, or grateful, or impressed. I wanted her happy. And that? That was dangerous.
"Do you always do this?" I asked, tilting my head, pretending to be casual while my chest felt like it was caving in.
She blinked. "Do what?"
"Waltz into people's lives, Annie starlight, and tear down centuries of carefully cultivated chaos with a grin?" I gestured broadly, nearly sloshing my coffee everywhere. "Because if so, it's dreadfully inconvenient. For me. Personally."
She smirked. "Sounds like a you problem."
I gawked at her. A me problem?! I was Malvor, god of chaos, trickster of tricksters, breaker of kingdoms, architect of delightful disasters, and she had just called it a me problem.
I slammed my cup down on the table, leaning forward until we were a breath apart. "You listen here, Annie cupcake—"
She didn't flinch. Not even a blink. She just sipped her drink, completely unfazed. That was when I realized I'd already lost. Not the war. Oh no. That was still mine. But this battle? The one I hadn't even meant to fight? She'd won it without lifting a finger.
I sat back slowly, glaring, though the edges of my lips betrayed me with a twitch. "You're insufferable."
"Good," she said simply, and gods help me, she looked radiant saying it. Radiant. Bloody hells. I was in trouble.
I stormed out. Or at least, I meant to storm out. In practice it was more of a dramatic swirl of my coat, a purposeful stride, and then, bloody hell. The door had the audacity to creak instead of slam. So instead of a proper exit, it sounded… awkward. Weak. Mortal. Pathetic. I cursed under my breath, stalking down the corridor. The house, damn traitorous thing, shifted around me, walls curving, halls bending, like it wanted to laugh at me too. And why wouldn't it? I'd just abandoned the battlefield like a coward.
I pressed my back to a wall, dragging a hand down my face. My own realm thrummed with my heartbeat, erratic, furious, unsettled.
Wicked thing. That's what I'd called her. Temptress. And gods, I meant it.
Because she was. Not in the obvious way. Not in the mortal, sultry, batting-lashes, begging-for-attention kind of way. No. She was dangerous because she didn't try. Because she could shrug, sip her coffee, and leave me unraveling. Me. The bloody god of chaos. I exhaled, trying to steady myself, but my hands twitched. My thoughts burned. The image of her grin, unguarded, radiant, seared into my skull. That sound, that laugh, brighter than any storm I'd conjured.
And her words. I still belong to you. I clenched my jaw so tight it ached. I didn't want belonging. I wanted want. I craved it. Needed it. And yet here I was, pacing my own damn halls, because if I'd stayed, if I'd looked at her one second longer, I might have admitted something. Something fatal. Malvor does not confess. Malvor does not love. The house flickered, candles guttering out one by one as my mood sank sharp and low. Shadows stretched in the corners, restless.
"Bloody. Wicked. Temptress," I muttered again, dragging both hands through my hair, pacing like a trapped animal.
Because she was winning. And I couldn't decide if I wanted to stop her. I did know I wanted her.